


Broken

by gregorin_greymalkin, twisted_id



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass Play, Bondage, Cabin Fic, M/M, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Rimming, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Penis Size, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rimming, Size Difference, Size Kink, Submissive Scott Summers, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1343986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gregorin_greymalkin/pseuds/gregorin_greymalkin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twisted_id/pseuds/twisted_id
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU from X-Men. Rogue doesn’t get captured at the railway station. Wolverine and Cyclops do. Toad tongues Cyclops while a tied-up Wolverine watches. Sabretooth makes everything worse. Major League non-con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rent

Logan woke up to a headache in a moving vehicle.

“Stop it.”

He recognized that terse voice, although it took him a moment to place it. Cyclops -- he couldn’t remember his other names -- the uptight boy with the visor. He remembered Magneto had been able to toss Logan around at will on the train and guessed Shades Boy hadn’t fared any better in the railway station. He hoped Rogue had gotten away in the confusion and that Storm was okay.

“Stop it!”

Cyclops sounded more annoyed now. 

“Just hold still, Cyclops, you freak.”

“Get off me, Toad!”

Logan turned his head, not wanting to alert anyone to him being awake. He was lying on a gurney in what seemed to be a stolen ambulance, strapped down with metal, his hands encased in metal containers that had to be made of adamantium because when he tried to pop his claws they hit that surface metal and stopped. His ankles and wrists were cuffed. The vehicle was traveling fast. Cyclops was strapped down to another gurney, but, unlike Logan, he’d been stripped past even his gitch, hands tied above his head, his legs shoved up and that Toad guy in the process of tying his ankles so he couldn’t shift his position.

“Stop wriggling!” Toad said in what seemed to be genuine irritation. “You always do this.”

“Get off me!”

Toad sounded hurt. “You know, there are people who would pay good money for me to do this.”

As naked Cyclops struggled against his bonds, Toad leaned in between his legs. “Do you want Sabretooth coming in here before I finish?”

Cyclops grimaced and then slammed his head back down on the gurney pillow in obvious frustration.

When Toad licked his finger, Logan got why Cyclops had been so angrily telling him not to, Logan’s eyes widening, because -- surely not…? Seriously…? Stick-up-his-ass boy and sticky tongue…?

What was weird about it was that it didn’t feel like the first meeting between gloating villain and virtuous hero. Toad conspicuously wasn’t gloating, and Cyclops wasn’t shocked. He was pissed, but he wasn’t surprised. He flinched when Toad touched him, but he was mostly just angry about not being able to fight back. Toad was shaking his head. “You know it really isn’t healthy to clench up like this.” He was rubbing his wet finger over Cyclops’ pink little opening and he wasn’t being rough about it, he was doing what Logan would have done to get Cyclops started off, although, admittedly, Logan wouldn’t have stripped him naked, tied him flat on his back on a gurney or ignored all those ‘Stop!’s. At least he hoped he wouldn’t, but Shades Boy was young, hot, and damned annoying so, on one of Logan’s darker days -- who knew?

Cyclops said tautly, “Stop it, Toad. Stop it!”

Toad’s tongue flickered out and began to delve, not at all deep, just flickering in and out of the entrance. Cyclops struggled and arched and grimaced, clearly hating it. Toad’s tongue shot back and Toad said in exasperation, “You do know there is no one else on the whole frickin’ planet who would find that painful? You really need to unclench.”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?” Cyclops said warmly. “You’re one of the few people who actually can.” He flinched as the tongue touched his entrance again and it clearly did hurt him as it tried to make its way inside. Toad licked his thumb and began to make circling motions around Cyclops’ anus while his tongue still licked and slapped and tried to make headway.

When Toad started lecturing Cyclops about the damage he was doing to his prostate by living in a state of constant anal clenching, it sounded heartfelt. “How many times do I have to tell you that you are in serious need of a massage back here?”

Cyclops squirmed uncomfortably and said, “Get off me!” through gritted teeth. He cried out as Toad’s tongue slipped in a fraction deeper, but Logan could see that it really had been the smallest incursion, and that it really had hurt. He would never have admitted it out loud but thought Toad might have a point about Cyclops needing to unclench. He didn’t know what to do for the best. He could try threatening Toad to get him to stop but unless Toad was dumber than he looked it wasn’t going to work when Logan was tied up too tightly to use his claws, and Cyclops would probably feel even more humiliated if he knew Logan was watching than he already was.

Toad fell back in frustration and gave Cyclops a fulminating look. “Seriously -- you’re going to cut off the flow to your balls with the way you carry on. I don’t know why everyone says you have a stick up your ass -- because good luck to anyone trying to get one up there.”

“Screw you.”

“I’m going to open you up if it takes me all dammed day. It’s not healthy.”

Logan wondered if he’d just hit his head really hard because that might explain why this whole bizarre situation was happening at all. Cyclops was frustrated and struggling, but there was no way he was getting out of those bonds, and Toad didn’t seem anything other than exasperated. He was -- as creepy raping villains went -- being kind of considerate. He began to tongue Cyclops’ tight little ass with flexing, regular strokes, determined to work his way in, while Cyclops scrunched up his face, and hated every minute of it. After several minutes of focused tonguing, Toad flickered his tongue out and said, “As a matter of interest do you just live for enemas or something? I mean is there any part of you that doesn’t taste of soap?”

Cyclops said, “Toad, don’t do this.”

“How many times have I told you that you ought to prep before a mission? Do you think I’m kidding around? Have you seen the size of Sabretooth’s dick? You prep, he catches you, he fucks you -- sure you’re walking funny for a few days, but there’s no harm done. He fucks you when you’re like this…? You’re looking at an anal retread. This shouldn’t be news to you. Every time the Brotherhood votes you the X-Man they most want to fuck up the ass I always send you your certificate. And it’s not like those jocks at school didn’t spend every shower session looking at your backside.”

Cyclops frowned. “That’s not true.”

“You really didn’t know the football team wanted to bang the crap out of you, Summers?”

“Don’t me call that. I’m on a mission.”

Toad rolled his eyes. “Who’s listening? It’s you and me and that wolfman with claws -- and he’s out for the count.”

“It’s the principle.”

“Can you please god stop being such an uptight, prissy little dick!”

Logan felt a horrible twinge of embarrassment, because those words had pretty much been floating in a thought bubble over his head since he’d first met Cyclops, and he was ashamed of that spasm of fellow feeling with Toad -- the guy who was, after all, currently engaged in trying to shove his tongue up Cyclops’ ass very much against Cyclops’ will and his apparently superhumanly clenched sphincter.

Toad kept working away at the muscle and then fell back with a sigh. He wiped his mouth. “Scott…?”

“I’m on a mission!”

“Fine. Cyclops. There’s a six-hour drive ahead of us. No one is coming to save you. No one knows where you are and this vehicle is shielded against Xavier. He can’t find you, nor can your hot girlfriend. Magneto’s in a different vehicle. Sabretooth’s driving this one and I don’t know how long he’s going to be happy to sit behind a wheel when your sizzling little ass is in here calling to him. If he wants to fuck you, who do you think’s gonna stop him? Because, I’m telling you right now, it isn’t going to be me. All I’m gonna do is get out of his way before he guts me. Best I can do for you is…this, and you’re not helping.”

Cyclops’ head fell back on the pillow again. He looked young and defeated, despite his model-boy bone structure, and Logan felt pretty sorry for him. He said petulantly, “Why does he even want to?”

Toad rolled his eyes. “Try looking in a mirror sometime, cream puff.” He licked his fingers again. “And, seriously, Cykey, it isn’t healthy. Doesn’t your girlfriend ever…?”

“No!”

Cyclops sounded shocked to his virtuous little core and Logan felt another unwanted spasm of sympathy for Toad. He really did have his work cut out for him here. 

“Would you loosen up if I gave you a drink?”

“I don’t drink.”

“I was forgetting. You don’t do anything that’s fun, do you?” Toad went to the medicine cabinet, which turned out to be stocked like a hotel mini-fridge, pulled out a miniature bottle of vodka, one of whiskey, and one of gin. He tossed them all into a glass, gave the mixture a stir, and advanced on his unhappy prisoner.

“Did you just stir that with the finger you were using to --?”

“Drink this or I swear to god I’ll give you another enema.”

Cyclops wrinkled up his chiseled face as he swallowed a few gulps of the alcohol. “That’s disgusting.”

“You know what else isn’t fun? Using a colostomy bag. Like you have to when your back passage gets ripped to pieces because you’re too uptight to unclench your ass and let a pal lubricate it for you. Swallow.”

Cyclops unwillingly obeyed, coughing and choking as some of it went down the wrong way. “We’re not ‘pals’,” he said through coughs. “We’re enemies.”

“Yeah, but you still took a beating for me in High School and we hung out together a few times. I’m not saying I wouldn’t sell you back to Sinister for a good enough price or kill you for money, but, you know, it wouldn’t be with malice.”

Cyclops coughed again. “You’re all heart.”

“Keep drinking.”

Logan had never seen anyone with less of a head for alcohol. Half a glass and Cyclops was swaying, two-thirds and he slumped flat on the gurney. Toad had to support his head and pour the last of it into his mouth gradually, Cyclops gulping automatically but clearly already hazy about what was going on; by the time the last drop was swallowed, Cyclops was totally out of things, and Toad lowered his head quite gently back onto the pillow. “Seriously?” Toad murmured. “Every teenage girl I ever met could drink you under the table, Summers.”

Cyclops murmured hazily, “Would those be the teenage girls whose skirts you were always trying to look up, Tolansky? Because they used to Kick. Your. Ass.”

“Hey! On a mission, remember? Codenames.”

“You’re not on my mission. You’re on your mission. You’re on a bad mission.”

Toad rolled his eyes and stuck his fingers back in his mouth. “Why do I even bother? I should just let you go on giving yourself permanent prostate damage.” But he eased his wet fingertip in with surprising care and began to make circling motions. Cyclops shifted uncomfortably and tried to push him away with his feet, but his objections were vague and undirected and Toad ignored them. Logan wondered if he should say something now, but as far as he could tell Toad wasn’t actually trying to hurt stick-up-his-ass boy, he was working hard not to hurt him -- apart from the whole sexually-assaulting-him-against-his-will part of the equation.

Cyclops’ head tilted over to one side and his breathing became the slow, regular breaths of the barely conscious.

Quietly, Logan said, “This the real deal, Tongue-boy, or do you just wanna get off? Sabretooth seemed more interested in Storm to me.”

Toad glanced over at Logan while still working his finger around the entrance to Cyclops’ taut little ass. “Sabretooth likes ‘em pretty. He don’t much care which type of plumbing they got, long as they’re helpless.”

“You really went to school with Red Eyes?”

“Sure. He was annoying then, too.” 

He bent his head and his tongue flickered out, it was prehensile, muscular, controlled, and it delved into Cyclops’ opening like it really wanted to be there. Cyclops shifted uncomfortably and moaned under his breath. Toad flickered his tongue back and looked across at Logan. 

“Seriously? You know anyone else on the planet who’d find a rim-job painful? I tell you, this guy needs a decade in therapy, stat, not to mention a whole new routine for better anal health.” 

And then he concentrated on tonguing Cyclops while Logan found himself watching in conflicted fascination as that agile tongue slipped in and out of that tight little ass, working the muscle with surprising patience. Even drunk most of the way to Snoozetown, Cyclops was restlessly resisting, making what would have been pushing away motions if his hands hadn’t been cuffed above his head, legs flexing uncomfortably as he made uncoordinated efforts to push that intrusive tongue away from his ass, but Toad persisted with tongue and fingers and soothing strokes across Cyclops’ bony hips. 

Sideways on, Logan could see that Cyclops was slender as a teenager; despite the muscles on his upper arms and chest, the rest of him was boyish, long legs dancer strong, not muscled up like Logan’s; Cyclops with a concave hollow where other men kept their hairy-bellied beer guts. At the thought of the furry bulk of Sabretooth climbing on board, Logan winced. Peeled out of the black leather and stripped of that crisp confidence, Cyclops was a pretty boy with a pretty mouth and a pretty ass that probably would attract the attention of any villain with a grudge. Hell, Logan wasn’t a villain and he didn’t have a grudge, and he could see that was a great little ass himself.

“You said you owed him,” Logan said. “So -- step up. Don’t let that walking throwrug shove his dick in him.”

Toad flickered his tongue back in. “Hey, I’m going above and beyond here.”

“I can smell how horny you are from here, bub. You’re not doing squat you wouldn’t be doing anyway, given half a chance.”

Toad let loose a chuckling heh-heh-heh. “Ya got me. I admit it -- I like to give him a good licking every time Magneto or Mystique have him tied up nice and tight. No one squirms like Cyclops with a tongue up his ass. Always pisses him off like you wouldn’t believe.”

“If he doesn’t like it, why keep doing it?”

“How’s he gonna learn to like it if I don’t keep doing it? Besides, it’s the principle of the thing.”

Logan gave him a disbelieving look. “What principle?”

“Chronic tightness of the anal muscles is the cause of most prostate and testicular pain. Don’t you x-freaks teach biology in that school?”

“You’re playing with Cyclops’ ass because thinking about your tongue inside him is your go-to jerk-off fodder when you’re alone with your right hand. Don’t dress it up as something it ain’t.”

“Just because I like it doesn’t mean it isn’t good for him. If you weren’t a raving psychokiller with claws in your knuckles, I’d tell you to slip a finger inside him some time and feel for yourself. Guy needs to relax.”

There was something unbearably smug about the way Toad proceeded to demonstrate to Logan the correct way to give an anal peripheral prostate massage to improve blood flow and reduce tension on the naked Scott Summers he had first stripped, tied up, and then got insensibly drunk. 

“Not really seeing the moral high ground you think you’re standing on there, Pal,” Logan growled.

Toad had stopped listening. Logan had to admit, the guy hadn’t rushed things. Apart from completely failing to gain Cyclops’ consent and then ignoring his repeated protests, Toad had been patient and considerate about his preparations, lots of muscle massage, every kind of shallow, non-penetrative ass-play going on before he really began to delve, but now he had Cyclops relaxed enough for fun and games and Logan might as well have been a pot plant.

If he’d known pretty boy better or even liked him…at all, he would just have been pissed but as he barely knew him and didn’t much like him there was a part of him that was kinda fascinated and another part that was kinda…turned on. Of course he thought it was wrong that Toad was tonguing the guy but he also couldn’t stop watching. Toad must have finally got Cyclops to unclench because his tongue was slipping in easily now, sliding in and out in pulsing thrusts, while Toad got harder and harder. It was making anger spark but also a shameful kind of heat in Logan’s belly: flares at the top of his thighs because Cyclops’ was all relaxed and open and Logan could see between his legs, see how his opening was all slick now, Toad’s fingers playing lazily with that loosening hole while his tongue thrust in deep. Difficult to look at that secret way in at the base of that fine young body and not imagine Logan’s cock just slipping in there, wet and ready.

Toad flicked his tongue in like a circus master recoiling his whip and confided conversationally, “Damn, I wish he was round for this. He hates it when he’s all loosened up and I can go this deep. Makes him mad as hell.” He patted Cyclops’ face. “Hey, Scott? Wake up!”

“Leave him alone,” Logan said roughly. “You’re getting your fun, aren’t you? No reason to wake the kid up.”

“My fun is the look on his face when he knows I’ve got him where I want him again,” Toad insisted, with no particular malice. Logan guessed there was some arrested development going on; Tolansky just seeing this as a continuation of adolescent one-up-manship, old scores paid off in kind. 

Toad lightly patted Cyclops’ face. “Come on, x-boy, wake up….”

“Leave him be, Frogboy….”

Logan should have saved his breath. Toad kept slapping and pinching him until Cyclops jolted back into consciousness, groaning at the obviously vicious pain in his head. “What the hell…?”

Toad grinned down at him. “Guess who…?”

Cyclops’ face tightened in annoyance. “Toad. What did you give me?”

“Alcohol, you teacher’s pet. Do you know a twelve-year-old girl could drink you under the table? Hey, back at the evil lair we should totally play strip poker. Guess what happens next…?”

Cyclops tried to pull loose from his bonds. “No. No! Toad, I swear I’ll kill you if you --” He broke off as Toad mockingly darted his tongue back into him and flexed it with finesse. Cyclops struggled and grimaced and arched his back, but he couldn’t do a damned thing to stop Toad giving him what was evidently a deep and thorough tonguing in his most intimate places. Cyclops was trying to clench but Toad had done too good a job of opening him up and had free and full access of which he was taking triumphant advantage. Toad finally flicked his tongue out, and ran it over his lips. “That. Never. Gets old.”

“Screw you,” said Cyclops tautly.

Toad sucked provocatively on his middle finger, and then slid it into him. Cyclops grimaced while behind his visor that red light flared brighter. Toad smirked. “Now he’s pissed.”

“Get off me!”

“It’s for your own good. Your ass was at critical clench level. If it weren’t for me giving you a good hard rimming every six months, you’d probably have been hospitalized by now.” He bent his head down and slid his tongue in past his finger, the two working in unison to probe Cyclops slickly. It was making Toad horny as hell -- the guy wasn’t even attempting to hide the way he was rubbing himself on the edge of the gurney with panting excitement as his tongue pulsed in and out of Cyclops’ ass with increasing speed. Toad caught Cyclops by the thighs, pulled him down so his tongue probed even deeper and then began to palm Cyclops’ cock, determined to make him come.

Cyclops struggled and wriggled and squirmed and fought and Logan gave the kid props because in his position he probably would have gone with it; but then he didn’t have any ideological opposition to being really well rimmed or getting a hand-job from another guy, whereas to Cyclops this was clearly a battle of wills between him and Toad that he was determined not to lose. 

Logan had to call it a draw because poor, squirming, pissed-off Cyclops certainly had to lie there and take the deepest, hardest, most prolonged tonguing in the history of glossal penetration, but although Toad came all over Cyclops’ thighs, Cyclops didn’t get hard and he sure as hell didn’t come.

Toad withdrew his tongue with a satisfied slurp, smirking with pleasure as he came down from his climax, and slid a couple of fingers in, almost affectionately. “And now you have a normal ass again. What you really need is for someone to work it for you like that every couple of days. Maybe if you’re good I’ll buy you a nice thick dildo and teach you how to use it.”

“Screw you, Toad!”

Cyclops was spitting mad and Logan didn’t blame him. He had Toad’s come all over him, a godawful headache from the alcohol that had been poured down his throat, and had been thoroughly opened up and ass-fondled into the bargain. 

Toad said, “Don’t be a sore loser. If Sabretooth fucks you now, it’s not gonna do you any harm. Let’s get you lubed up for him, just in case. Guy was in a mood earlier on account of that lightning bolt. He’s someone else who needs to learn how to take a joke.” 

Cyclops said, “Get off me!” And Toad smirked and laughed, like it was genuinely all very amusing and no more serious than a locker room skirmish. He squeezed a generous blob of KY over his fingers and began to work it into Cyclops’ expertly massaged ass, humming tunelessly. He had the air of a guy giving his car a last polish after he’d spent the weekend simonizing it. 

Logan thought he was tough and used to taking what others dished out, but even though Cyclops was spitting tacks and reminded him of nothing so much as an angry cat, he wasn’t surprised by anything Toad had done to him and he wasn’t close to traumatized. He was pissed off that Toad had got the better of him again and clearly disliked things being shoved into his ass that he hadn’t asked for, but he didn’t seem to get that he’d been raped, near as dammit, any more than Toad did. 

The ambulance slowed down and stopped and there was the ominous quiet as the engine was abruptly cut off. Toad wrinkled his nose. “Damn. Looks like we’re going to get a visit from Laughing Boy.” He waved an admonishing finger at Cyclops as if he was a child who might embarrass him in public. “Don’t piss him off.”

Cyclops tugged angrily at his bonds and said, “Screw you, Toad. Screw you.”

“You owe me one and you know it.” Toad grabbed a bandage and gagged Cyclops with it while the guy struggled and tried to spit it out. His tone was conversational: “God, you’re dumb. Do you want him to shove his cock down your throat? He’ll knock your teeth out if you bite him and we both know you would. Not to mention that pretty mouth of yours doesn’t open wide enough to take what he’s dishing out in any case. Now stop being a sulky little prick and let me handle him.” 

As Sabretooth shouldered his way into the ambulance, massive bulk filling the place, his head practically touching the ceiling, smelling of wet dog and singed fur and bad temper, Toad was tonguing Cyclops’ hole again while Cyclops struggled with entirely unfeigned fury.

Sabretooth growled, “My turn.”

Toad glanced over his shoulder while allowing his tongue to lick into Cyclops’ ass in lazy flicks. “Aw, come on, I barely had any time with the new x-pet.”

Sabretooth was already unbuckling his belt. “My turn.”

Toad pulled out with a show of reluctance. “You should tongue-fuck him first -- pisses him off like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I don’t lick pussy, what makes you think I’m gonna lick him?”

“You don’t? Man, you don’t know what you’re missing. If I could get a job where all I had to do was lick pussy all day… Hey, you think there’s some heiress out there who’d pay me to do that? Not like many people got a tongue like Toad. Watch this. He really hates this.” He sent his tongue into Cyclops in deep, muscular strokes and Cyclops squirmed furiously, twisting from side to side as he tried to tug his legs free and pull away.

Sabretooth laughed richly. “Little bitch should be grateful.”

“That’s what I keep telling him. It’s like he’s allergic to pleasure. Come on, Cykey-boy, you can take a little more tongue up that uptight ass of yours. Give it up for Toad now.”

Ten minutes of Toad tormenting Cyclops with his tongue and Sabretooth was even more aroused but a lot less bad-tempered, and Cyclops’ ass had been massaged even wetter and looser. It was still a vulnerable, tight-looking hole to Logan’s eyes, but it was stretched and lubricated and had clearly been well worked deeper in. Sabretooth was smirking and purring as he put his leonine head between Cyclops’ bound legs and licked. At the feel of this new incursion of unwanted tongue, Cyclops squirmed furiously, trying to shout through the gag things that were clearly uncomplimentary. Unseen by Sabretooth Toad clamped his hand over Cyclops’ gagged mouth and gave him a warning glare. As Toad held Cyclops’ head still and stifled his objections, Sabretooth was getting into tonguing -- the jolts and wriggles of resistance clearly entertaining him immensely. A few minutes of that and he withdrew his tongue with a satisfied smack, bit the claw off his middle finger and slid that in up to the knuckle. Cyclops shifted uncomfortably, clearly not enjoying the experience, but, given the size of Sabretooth’s fingers, Logan had to give Toad props for knowing his stuff. If Sabretooth had tried to do that to Shades Boy half an hour earlier, the kid would have passed out with the pain.

Sabretooth grunted. “You used enough lube.”

“I like ‘em slick. That’s the best part, sliding in and out, easy as you please and not a dammed thing they can do about it. Hate that, don’t you, Cykey? Hate it when your ass wants what’s coming and you’re all there for the taking.” He turned to Sabretooth with a smirk. “Martyred little dick would rather it hurt, then at least he could bear it nobly and feel like a hero. Hard to feel like a hero when your ass is wide open and begging for it.”

Sabretooth laughed again, a deep, ugly rumble. “Oh, it’ll hurt.” He unzipped himself and stroked his dick and Logan realized the guy was right. Fuck. This was bad. Tigerclaw was hung like a porn star, huge, uncut head, long thick shaft, heavy hanging balls. A full ten inches long and way too thick. No way was that massive tab A going into Cyclops’s tight little slot B in any way that wasn’t painful. The kid was going to be lucky if he didn’t get ripped to pieces.

There was a moment’s hesitation before the hairy bastard reached for the lube Toad had left on the gurney and Logan held his breath but then Sabretooth flipped off the top. “He’s gonna be wide open and then some when I’m done with him.” He gave a meaty chuckle as he slicked himself up, huge hand caressing that hardening shaft, leaving it glistening with KY. Logan suspected that was the only mercy Sabretooth was going to be showing. Cyclops had stopped fighting and was smelling scared. He looked wary and cornered, and Logan knew that even if Cyclops and Toad had danced this dance in the past, he hadn’t had to take it from Sabretooth before. He felt sorry for the kid with no reservations. Hot girlfriend or no hot girlfriend, Logan hated that Xavier’s pet was going to get reamed by this animal. There was no way this was going down that wasn’t ugly and brutal.

Sabretooth was circus strongman powerful, claws ripping through the bonds that held Cyclops’ ankles, then before the guy could even get his head round being half-free, he’d cut through his wrists restraints, flipped him over onto his knees and was leaning over him, holding his wrists with one hand. He pushed in with a grunt, no niceties, and Cyclops’ head shot up, the gag barely stifling his scream, pain in every straining twist of his body. Sabretooth grabbed him by the hair and held him still, giving another grunt of satisfaction as he shoved his way in deeper.

Logan thought there wasn’t enough lube in the world for uptight-boy to take that monster cock but Toad had done his prepwork. Cyclops wasn’t liking it one little bit, the poor bastard, body a corkscrew of pain, but he wasn’t ripping down the seams either. He was taking it one brutal incursion at a time as Sabretooth forced his way in with another impatient thrust.

“Tightassed little bitch,” Sabretooth grunted. “Hold his wrists.”

Toad did as he was told, holding Cyclops by the wrists and looking him in the visor as he did it; warning not gloating; Logan could see his expression and it wasn’t unsympathetic. He could see Cyclops’ too -- the guy’s face was mirrored in the cabinet behind Toad’s head, and the poor kid was really hurting. Sabretooth thrust again and Cyclops only half-stifled his sound of pain as Sabretooth worked his way in brutally, shoving from the hips, cursing Cyclops out for not taking it up the ass as often as a pretty boy like him should be doing, getting graphic about the various ways he would be disciplining him if he had him under his command. Another shove and he was all the way in, and Logan could see those heavy balls hard against Cyclops’ abused little ass.

“Give him a minute to get used to you, Sabe,” Toad pleaded. “You don’t always have to be a pig.” He reached out, unseen by Sabretooth, but visible to Logan in the mirrored cabinet behind Toad’s head, and used his thumb to wipe the tears of pain from Cyclops’ face, then gave his cheekbone a gentle rub, like he was soothing a pet. It was patronizing but it wasn’t unkind.

“Don’t baby the little bitch,” Sabretooth growled, but he kept still, to Logan’s surprise, grudgingly giving the boy some adjustment time.

“Hey, it ain’t his fault you’re the biggest he’s had to take. Cocks like yours ain’t exactly commonplace. How the hell do you expect him to get in training for it?”

Sabretooth preened and, still holding Cyclops by the hair, twisted his head round, craning his neck to look at his face. “You crying, x-boy? Ain’tcha used to a real man inside ya?”

“Hey, in his place I’d be crying,” Toad said. “He’s just a kid, Sabretooth. It ain’t that long ago that the jocks were beating him up in high school….” He kept talking, mentioning various occasions when the adolescent Brotherhood had defeated the adolescent x-men and, although Logan suspected most of what he was saying was bull, he was certainly pulling down the tension in the room, making Sabretooth forget the efficient guy who could fire force beams out of his eyes and making it clear that Cyclops was just a boy out of his depth, not a worthy opponent, not deserving of true punishment, just a light spanking before he was sent home to Daddy. Toad’s tongue worked its magic again and by the time Sabretooth growled at him to can it Cyclops had been given some desperately needed time to adjust to that monstrous cock.

He still flinched at every thrust, breath sobbing in his throat, but Sabretooth wasn’t angry with him now, he was just enjoying himself and enjoying humiliating Cyclops with his own helplessness as he fucked him with hard, ass-filling strokes. He let go of his hair to grab his hips, increasing momentum, and Toad stroked his hair back from his face, unnoticed by Sabretooth, who had his head back as he slammed into Cyclops with roaring gusto. 

Logan’s sharp hearing could pick up that Toad was keeping up a running murmur of commentary, advice, and perhaps even comfort: “… just let it happen…go with him…don’t fight it…just let him fuck you, okay…let him in as deep as he wants to go…you can take it…good boy…he won’t be long now…just hang in there, Cykey…it’ll all be over in a minute…he’s nearly done…all be over soon…it’s going to be hotter than you’re used to when he comes…guy is an animal, after all…”

And it wasn’t cruel, Logan had to admit; even though Toad was holding Cyclops down so Sabretooth could ream him; he doubted even Cyclops thought the guy was anything except on his side through an unavoidable ordeal, it was just fucking endless, Sabretooth pounding and pounding that uptight little ass and the uptight little superhero attached to it with loud grunts of satisfaction and a constant commentary of abuse:

“That’s it, you self-righteous little prick, stretch that tightass and fuckin’ take it… take every inch of it…. You enjoying that…? I bet you are, ya little bitch-boy. I bet you’ve been wanting a real man inside you for a long time. Well, you’re getting broken in by the best now…. I bet you want it deeper and harder. You want it harder, x-boy…?”

All the sounds and the scents were making Logan want to gag, want to snarl, want to fuck and come. He wanted to be Toad soothing that poor violated kid, wanted to be Sabretooth thrusting so deep and fast between the taut, high buttocks of that prissy little boy-scout, wanted to be Logan ripping both those bastards into pieces and getting the kid the hell away from them to a place where neither one of them could lay another finger or curious flexing tongue or huge hairy cock upon him.

Sabretooth hitched Cyclops up tighter, an arm around his shoulders to gather him in, pull him in beneath him so he could thrust harder, making him brace himself. Cyclops whimpered pitifully as he was fucked even deeper, pistoned into with such savage speed and ferocity that he could barely breathe, and he looked even more like a kid to Logan now, with that huge body looming over his boyish one, one out of his depth and grateful for any kindness, even from an enemy. He pressed his face against Toad’s comforting hand as his body was jackhammered, Sabretooth’s balls pounding against his ass, and Toad put his mouth to Cyclops’ face and breathed consoling nonsense into his ear, telling him again and again that it was almost over, almost done, any minute now the pain was gonna stop like it had never been, and then Sabretooth lunged, snarling triumphantly, and closed his teeth on the back of Cyclops’ neck, gripping him with his teeth. Logan thrilled and shuddered and bristled angrily at the sheer basic impulse of it; getting it; getting it to the ends of his curling toes and his abruptly pulsing, semen-gushing cock.

Cyclops got it, too. Sabretooth had reached him, primal to primal, dominant animal to one that needed to submit to survive, and Cyclops submitted, lowering his head with a flinch, cringing obediently as those teeth gripped his neck, and that was the switch Sabretooth must have needed to be flipped because he came with a roar, nearly pushing Cyclops off the gurney. Toad held him up, letting Cyclops curl into him, his head on Toad’s shoulder while Toad soothed him with strokes as Sabretooth pumped into him. 

Logan wasn’t even sure that Sabretooth’s semen came from human DNA, because he could smell the rank, splashing heat of it across the room, and -- even with Toad’s warning -- Cyclops jolted with the shock as it seared him before he started to shake. Toad was rubbing his fingers down Cyclops’ chest now, still holding him up with his other arm, and looking beyond him to see how Sabretooth was doing. He said, “You done, you animal?” There was admiration into his tone but he was still stroking Cyclops kindly.

Sabretooth gave a grunt of satisfaction. “I’m done.” He eased out of Cyclops with something approaching consideration, a torrent of hot fluid following that smelled acrid and vicious, and then slapped his ass. “Good boy.”

“Didn’t give you any trouble, did he? Gave you just what you wanted?”

“No trouble at all.” Sabretooth rubbed his hands over Cyclops’ buttocks, kneading them before he moved his thumbs up to his slack, semen-dripping hole, the kid gushing so much come back there it looked like he’d been fucked by a whole dog pack. “Nice little fuck all round.”

“You remember that next time you’re losing your temper with him on a mission. Not everyone has your healing factor.”

Sabretooth conceded the point with a shrug. “You’re too soft.”

“Just sayin’ -- out there in the field, you remember that Cykeboy may be an annoying little shit who can shoot force beams out of his eyes but he has a sweet ass.”

“He does have that.” Sabretooth slipped his claw-denuded finger in to Cyclops’ abused ass and fingered him with satisfaction, deep and possessive, while Cyclops choked down a whimper of pain. “He’s not going to be sitting down for a while.”

“No, that was some serious bone smuggling. He’s going to be eating his dinner off the countertop for days.”

Sabretooth smirked with satisfaction then leaned down to lick his victim clean, relishing his own taste as his tongue lapped up his thighs, over his balls, and then plunged in to that sore stretched little hole. Cyclops offered a choked protest, shaking harder, but Toad smoothly clamped a hand over his half-gagged mouth. Logan was with Toad. Healing factor was exactly what Cyclops needed right now and even if Sabretooth was just reveling in his own conquest, it was doing Cyclops abused little asshole a lot of good to have that tongue doing its work.

Sabretooth finished licking him at last and wiped his mouth. “Why’s the little shit shaking so hard?”

“Kid just got ass-fucked to Abilene by a frickin’ sasquatch -- he’s dealing with a few things, okay?”

“Ain’t going into shock, is he?”

“Well, he ain’t exactly the picture of good mental health right now, no.”

Cyclops was both limp and rigid, way too much like a marionette whose strings had been cut for Logan’s liking, his trained body uncoordinated and flailing as he tried and failed to get it to work the way it used to. Toad playing with his ass clearly hadn’t seemed like a rape to him but this had been unmistakably that and nothing else, and it was causing a mental disconnect -- guy who thought of himself as a hero suddenly forced to see himself as a victim. Guy who thought himself all grown up made to realize that he might as well have been a pampered pedigree puppy tossed into a wolf-pen when it came to guys like Sabretooth. The guy had hurt him, deep and hard, in a way no one else ever had before, done it and kept doing it, over and over; no wonder the shivering, shaking kid looked like his world had pretty much crashed around his ears.

Sabretooth pulled Cyclops out of Toad’s grip and glowered at him. “Don’t wimp out on me, x-boy.”

Logan could see Cyclops trying and failing to stop the shaking, his teeth had started to chatter and he tightened his fists in a desperate attempt to stop. Sabretooth said impatiently, “Cut it out. It’s done now. No one else is gonna be up your ass today.” He pulled the sodden bandages out of his mouth and tossed them. “Didn’t you hear what I said? You’re done for the day. Understood? Answer me?” 

Teeth chattering so hard he could barely speak, Cyclops said, “I h-h-heard.”

Sabretooth said, “Ah…fuck it.” He surprised Logan and probably terrified Cyclops by pulling him in against his furry bulk and rubbing his back with rough strokes. Cyclops tensed up even more and Logan could just imagine how horrifying he found it to be smothered with that semen-scented fur, the guy stinking of satisfaction all over him, huge muscles dwarfing Cyclops’ boyish body, while his clawed hands roamed over him. He slapped Cyclops’ ass and said, “Snap out of it,” then, as that had no discernible effect, licked his thumb, grumbling, and rubbed it over the slap mark. Over Cyclops’ shoulder he said to Toad. “Well, get the little shit something.”

“Do I look like a doctor?”

“Get him a drink.”

“He can’t drink. He’s the world’s worst lightweight.”

“Get him a fucking drink!”

Toad snatched the last mini out of the cabinet. “There’s brandy, but he’ll probably just puke it back up.”

Sabretooth took the bottle from him, twisted off the cap and put the bottle to Cyclops’ lips. “Drink. Slowly. Don’t puke.”

Cyclops obeyed, keeping his head lowered, and behind the visor Logan had no doubt that his eyes were averted, because that bite to the back of his neck had made Sabretooth the dominant male in the room and Cyclops knew it better than anyone. He drank the brandy in small sips, still shaking hard, trying to stop it and not succeeding. Sabretooth was looking him over with the eye of a connoisseur now -- comparing him with his other rape victims, maybe? He seemed to like what he saw because his touch was kinder, tidying Cyclops’ hair, wiping a drip of spilled brandy from his chin. “Could get fond of this one,” he admitted to Toad over Cyclops’ shaking shoulders. “He’s pretty when he cries.” He stroked Cyclops’ red-smacked ass possessively with his clawed fingers; the bruises where his balls had beaten their tattoo were already starting to come out. “Other good points too.”

Toad said, “You know you can’t keep him, right? Magneto needs him to trade.”

“He can trade the other one for the girl.”

“Except pretty boy there is Xavier’s adopted son. The guy’s gonna want him back. And where you gonna keep him even if Magneto let you? You know he’d try to run away and then you’d lose your temper with him and it would just get messy.”

Sabretooth conceded the point with a grunt and took the empty brandy bottle from Cyclops’ mouth. He said, “Go to sleep, x-boy. No one’s gonna fuck you any more today.” He settled Cyclops on his side on the gurney, the guy too hypnotized either by shock, booze, or that thread of mastery Sabretooth had over him to do anything except what he was told. Sabretooth cuffed one ankle and one wrist to the gurney, pushed the pillow under his head, and then threw a blanket over him. As he zipped himself up and headed for the door, he stabbed a finger at Toad. “No playing with his ass.”

Toad held up his hands. “Hey, I’m all for letting the guy sleep.”

Sabretooth looked back at the chiseled features of Cyclops, lean body shaking under the red blanket and gave a nod of satisfaction. “Nice little fuck,” he said again, almost fondly. “When he wakes up, find him a candy bar or something, will ya? Tell him he did good.”

A minute later the engine started up and the vehicle began to move again.

Toad was gently stroking Cyclops’ back through the blanket, steady, soothing strokes, while Cyclops shuddered convulsively as he fought the shock and the brandy and lost, drooping like a summer candle even as Logan watched. Toad hitched up the blanket and flicked his tongue back inside Cyclops’s ass but there was nothing mocking or merry about it now; he just looked anxious and was clearly checking the kid for damage with the best tool to hand. He felt around in him with his tongue and then eased it back out, wincing in sympathy. “Poor kid. He pounded you good.”

“What’s the verdict?” Logan asked tersely.

Toad looked across at Logan. “You were quiet.”

“You were handling it.” It hurt to have to say it, but Logan ground it out: “Appreciate it -- what you did.”

Toad shrugged. “Wouldn’t wish Sabretooth at his worst on anyone -- especially not a guy I went to school with. Kind of an art-form -- keeping him sweet.” He ruffled Cyclops’ hair and said, “We got through it, right, Cykey? Nah, he’s out for the count. Just as well. Poor little shit -- that was a reaming and a half. Sabretooth usually shoots his wad faster than that.”

“Is the kid badly hurt?”

“Well, Sabe ain’t exactly a contender for the World’s Most Considerate Lover prize anyway but Cyke would be in a better state if Sabretooth had used a goddamned condom – he knows that stuff burns, but that’s the part he likes – gushing like a water main. Maybe Magneto will let me clean him up back at the base. Kid’s gonna feel like he got punched in the stomach fifty times when he wakes up, whatever I do, but an enema would help. Damn, that was a rough session, even by Sabretooth’s standards. When you take him home, keep him on fluids for a while. I expect you know the drill.” Toad flickered a look Logan’s way as insidious as his tongue. “You and Sabretooth got a few things in common.”

“Yeah,” Logan said uncomfortably.

“X-boy know you’re going to have to fuck him now? Can’t leave Sabretooth as the last dominant male, can you?”

“I’m not a rapist.”

“Still….”

“The kid just got ass-pounded to hell and back. There is no ‘still’.”

“If you let it build, you’ll do something worse. Just take him to one side in the showers some day and make him blow you. You don’t have to be mean about it. Just let him know you’re the alpha male. You’ll both be happier and you’ll both know where you stand. Summers ain’t too bright on some things. He needs it spelled out. Or you can slip into him now while he’s wide open and out of it and it won’t hurt him.”

Logan looked across at Cyclops’ blanket-draped body. “I can’t do that to him.”

“He’s not gonna know about it, is he? Just jerk off then shoot your load in his ass so you don’t have to do it later.”

“You managing me now?”

“I know your type. You think you’re gonna do the right thing, but you never do. Gonna hurt him a lot worse in a few days – that’s assuming they make the exchange today. Magneto had better not hang around because, come tomorrow, Sabretooth is gonna want to bang him again, and the kid’s gonna go nuts if that animal comes near him.” Toad arranged Cyclops carefully, hitching up his hips and fanning his buttocks with his fingers so Logan could see for himself how easily his hole fell open, loose and wet. “The truth is, I’m sentimental where Cykey’s concerned. I wanna get him away from Sabretooth before Round Two but I don’t feel comfortable sending him home with you when I know you’re gonna need to go all big dog on him just because of the way you’re wired.”

“I am wired that way,” Logan admitted. 

“Sabretooth claimed him right in front of you and Cyke gave it up to him -- might as well have come out and said Sabretooth was the dominant male in the room. I know you need to show that ain’t so.” He stroked Cyclops’ ass invitingly, like he was wares he was trying to sell Logan.

“Not much of a demonstration when the guy’s unconscious, is it?”

“Aw, come on. He’ll smell of you. Your come will be fresher than Sabretooth’s. It’ll hold ya, won’t it? Least until the poor guy can sit down without whimpering. Just because you have to be the alpha dog doesn’t mean you have to make him your bitch, does it?”

“Actually, it pretty much does, bub. That’s the way it works between guys like me and guys like Red Eyes.”

Toad gave Logan a narrow look. “Do you even know his name?”

“Wasn’t listening when we were introduced on account of finding his girlfriend way hotter than him.”

Toad glowered. “Hey, the guy’s pretty close to flawless. Look at those fucking cheekbones! Look at that mouth! Look at that chiseled jaw! What’s the matter with you?”

“Guy’s got no eyes.”

“He’s got two eyes. You just don’t want to be looking into them when his beams are working.”

Logan shrugged. “I ain’t saying he’s not plenty good and fuckable, I’m just saying I like the people I bang to come with eyes.”

“Well, aren’t you Mr. Particular?” Toad glowered at him and then looked back at Cyclops. “Look, just get it over with, will ya? So I can send him home without thinking you’re going to be fucking him five minutes over the threshold. Just slip the tip in and make him smell like you.”

Logan shrugged. “Fine.”

“You’ll do it?”

“If it’ll stop you yapping. Guy’s out for the count, right?”

“Dead to the world.”

Toad came over and uncuffed Logan from the gurney, his attention straying back to Cyclops as he fumbled with the keys. “I gotta watch he doesn’t puke. Don’t want him choking on it -- he never could drink worth a damn. He needs to go back on his side when you’re done….”

There were more instructions, suggestions, modifications, while Logan let the words go in one ear and out of the other; the chain between Logan’s ankles was not adamantium; only the gloves over his hands seemed to be that. Logan held them up. “Can’t unzip too well wearing these metal boxing gloves.”

“I’ll do it.” Toad reached across and unzipped Logan, impersonally stroking his shaft while his gaze went back to Cyclops, a frown creasing his forehead. “You’ll be gentle, right?”

Logan said, “Yes…” and punched Toad on the jaw.

It was a knockout blow, of course, but he had weighted it as carefully as he could so as to not actually break the guy’s jaw, and he caught him before he fell and put him on Logan’s vacated gurney. It wasn’t easy -- getting hold of the keys with his teeth, or, given where Toad had stashed them, pleasant, but then he had the whole keyring and was freeing his first hand. After that it was easy, unlocking the other hand, the ankle cuffs -- stuffing his dick back inside his pants. He gagged Toad, cuffed him to the gurney and cuffed the gurney to the wall. He gave the unconscious guy a brief pat on the shoulder.

“Meant what I said about appreciating the interference you ran back there -- which is why I ain’t gutting you right now for the other crap you pulled.”

He had to steel himself to go over to Cyclops. The kid was a semen-spattered mess and reeking as he was of two other -- rival -- guys’ come, one part of Logan was immediately possessive and horny. That part was basically: Mine. Not yours. Mine. And it wasn’t just competing with Sabretooth and Toad for ownership, it was competing with Cyclops as well, because Cyclops had lost his right to self-ownership, as far as Logan’s restless dick was considered, when he let himself get taken. Logan’s dick was like that. Luckily he still had access to other parts of his brain apart from the part hotwired to respond to the most basic of instincts and he used those to uncuff Cyclops. He stuffed medical supplies into his pockets then wrapped Cyclops up nice and tight in his clean red blanket, picked him up in his arms and carried him to the back of the ambulance.

A twist of the handle, a wait for the right bend in the road with thick cover on either side and Logan was jumping and rolling so Logan took the brunt of the impact and Cyclops just jolted a little in his arms, before he had him gathered up again as comfortably as he could get him, before he was running like hell into the big, dark forest. 

The blizzard started up ten minutes later and covered their retreat like a ghost army while everywhere around them the world turned cold and white.

~*~*~*~*~


	2. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolverine does his best to help Cyclops recover from his ordeal.

Well, it wasn’t a gingerbread cottage that was for sure. No one had tried to make this place look enticing. It was a slab-sided, grim-looking house in the woods that looked like no one was home, but the snow was impossible now, coming in from all sides, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. Logan stashed the unconscious Cyclops behind the woodpile and knocked on the door anyway. When no one answered he lifted a window latch with one claw. He climbed in through the kitchen and unbolted the back door, then retrieved the unconscious x-man from his damp shelter and carried him into the living room. 

Shitty wallpaper, Logan noticed, worse than the worst motel, and the place was bitterly cold. Nothing done to the place since the seventies, by the look of things, although someone was living here, he guessed, at least some of the time, because there was canned food in the kitchen. Ten minutes exploration established that there was no telephone. He kept looking because he couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. Cyclops needed to be in the hospital with people who knew what they were doing putting him back together again. The kid had just been raped for what had felt like an eternity by three hundred pounds of muscled-up nightmare-fuel powering a ten-inch beer can-thick dick that had been used on him like a pile-driver. There had to be a phone.

There had to be a phone because this fucked-up naked boy he barely knew could not be Logan’s problem. There had to be a phone because the kid was a hero, and heroes didn’t get left to the less than tender mercies of people like Logan. They got clean sheets and antibiotics, or at the very least pretty girls with soft, caring hands to soothe their fevered brows. They didn’t get left alone with angry, anti-social cage-fighters who their scent was making horny, because they stank of another guy’s come.

There wasn’t a phone.

The generator ran off gas, of which there were cans and cans in the barn, the water pumped up from some underground spring, and the heating came from a woodstove. Logan cranked the generator, sliced logs to kindling and stuffed them into the woodstove until the power was humming and the water ran hot. He switched on the TV and it was all about the weather, a great swirling whiteness over right where they were. He went and looked for a jug, soap, washcloths, a first aid kit -- along with the medical supplies he’d taken from the ambulance, that gave him some basics -- and some clean tubing he found in some homemade wine kit that had never been opened. It wasn’t perfect but he could make it work. There was rope. He hoped he wasn’t going to have to tie the poor bastard up to make him see sense. The Cyclops he’d met that eternity ago had been a smart guy before; that guy still had to be in there somewhere.

Cyclops was stirring by then and Logan carried him into the bathroom, sniffing him anxiously, afraid that Sabretooth had ripped him up inside too badly for soap and water to fix it. Impossible to tell with everything stinking of Sabrecome so overpoweringly that it was slamming all his senses. He didn’t think there was too much blood, which meant that Toad’s prepwork had been worth all the squirming and humiliation on Cyclops’s part, because if he wasn’t ripped after that rape to end all rapes then it was down to Toad’s tongue and nothing else. God, Logan hoped he wasn’t ripped, because stuck in a snowstorm in the middle of nowhere he didn’t know how to fix that with a sewing needle and some past-its-sell-by-date Neosporin. He peeled him out of his sticky, damp blanket, brushing off the woodshavings from where he’d had to leave him on the ground, while he filled the bath. The plumbing was noisy: everything rattling and gushing, belching steam, but the water ran clear enough and at least it was warm. 

He stuck his elbow into it to check the temperature, ran some pipe-rattling cold from the greened-bronze faucet, and then checked it again. Cyclops was coming round properly now, and he went from out of it to aware and scuttling backwards in a heartbeat, wedging himself into the smallest, darkest corner he could find.

Too late, Logan realized he should have asked Toad to remind him what the boy’s name was. This was an occasion when it really would have helped to be able to use his first name. Logan got down on his knees and held up his hands, placatory body language, soothing tones: “Kid, it’s okay. It’s me…Logan. You remember me, right?”

The kid’s heart was racing. He was right back to shaking, gulping for breath in a full on panic attack. He started rocking where he was kneeling and he couldn’t seem to help himself. He said desperately, “What’s happening to me…?”

“It’s shock,” Logan said. “And probably major league PTSD.”

The boy kept rocking, looking down at his shaking hands like they made no kind of sense. “I don’t do this.”

“It’s not your fault, kid. Something…really bad happened to you.”

The boy put his hands up to his visored eyes and rocked worse, scared of his own reaction, scared of the way he was falling apart when he didn’t know how to be someone who wasn’t coping. Logan remembered that the guy had been all about control and he had just lost that, completely.

Logan said, “You need to get in the bath. I need to get what that guy put in you…out of you….” He suspected Sabretooth’s semen was still searing the kid’s pounded back passage. If there was tearing and that stuff was as toxic as it smelled, he could get infected up the wazoo and…anyway, neither he nor Red Shades needed the boy to be stinking of Sabretooth right now. 

The boy looked down at himself and gave a horrified shudder of reaction as he seemed to notice that he was naked and semen spattered. He flinched from his own skin, and Logan moved over in a low run and took him by the upper arms. “Kid, take a breath, just take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Good boy. Now…again… and again.” He managed to stop him hyperventilating, and kept talking, keeping his voice quiet and calm. “We need to get you cleaned up, okay? I need to make sure you’re…okay.”

He seemed to be getting through, but he kept getting flashes of how the guy had looked that morning: all his cut-glass bone structure and his quiet air of command, and now he was this shivering, come-spattered thing; it was a hell of a way for a guy to fall in a few hours. Logan said, “Can you stand?”

The boy nodded and tried to get up and then cried out in lancing pain and crumpled. Logan caught him and the guy just froze in his grip like some snared wild thing. Logan decided to push forward as the boy was already having to bear being touched, hairy male skin too close, muscles dwarfing him, male sweat scent on him, better to go through it. Logan picked him up and carried him over to the bath then lowered him down carefully into the hot water.

The shaking was magnified in the water, ripples eddying away in all directions. Logan reached out and stroked his back in silent sympathy, knowing he was probably the last person on earth this poor kid would have wanted to witness what had happened to him and his complete falling to pieces in the aftermath. Of course the guy cringed from his touch, head bowed. He put his hands up to his face and his shoulders began to shake and Logan realized he was weeping and couldn’t stop however hard he tried.

“It’s just reaction,” he told him, helplessly, smelling the shame and guilt and self-loathing billowing off the poor bastard in waves. “Kid, it’s okay not to be okay with what that fucker did to you. It was unbelievably…brutal, what he did.”

The boy sobbed and rocked and hated himself for not being able to stop and Logan bit down his pity and then picked up the washcloth. “Can you hold this…?”

The kid really tried but he fumbled the washcloth and dropped the soap and couldn’t stop shaking whatever he did. Logan said, “I’m sorry. I know this is the last thing you want but I need to get you cleaned up. I’m just going to wash you, okay? I know you don’t want me to and I’m sorry.”

And it was tough -- hearing the kid’s breath snag with fear whenever Logan touched him, feeling him cringe, but he bore it, shaking and flinching but choking down his protests, and Logan gritted his teeth and soaped his bruised skin and washed the sweat and come off him. After what Logan had witnessed, the boy wasn’t safe smelling of Sabretooth’s come in Logan’s company; that was the truth of it. He wasn’t safe smelling of anything but soap. It felt as if it took forever, but finally it was done. Cyclops had his head down, shoulders hunched, bangs flopping over his visor like he could hide behind them. Logan gently teased the wet strands of hair back out of his face and rubbed the back of his finger down his cheek soothingly.

Logan said, “Look, kid, I know you don’t want to talk about this stuff, but we’re stuck here and no one can get to us while this blizzard’s raging -- no bad guys, but no good guys either, and no doctors. So, I need to know if you had a bowel movement before we went on that mission or if you’ve got impacted feces that we need to get out before they do you some damage.”

“I went -- before we went.”

He guessed that kid had never been so glad to live behind a visor, but the humiliation was still coming off him like cheap scent, the poor bastard. It didn’t help Logan get through what he had to say next.

“That’s good, that’s really good, but I still think you need an enema because that guy’s come was…strange. It smelled hot.”

Cyclops cringed but he got the words out barely: “It hurt. When he came, it hurt a lot.”

“It might be acidic. Let’s just make sure it’s all out of you. I’ll be quick, I promise, and I’ll try not to hurt you. Just -- don’t fight me.”

He was aware that he was doing damage even as he was doing good. What this guy needed was to be back in his own environment with people around him who would treat him like he was the guy they knew. Logan was doing the opposite. He was picking him up and carrying him like he weighed nothing, like he was just a kid, because to someone as strong as Logan that was how he felt, but the alternative was to have the guy crawl on his hands and knees because he sure as hell couldn’t walk without pain right now. He was doing things to him -- necessary medical things, but there was still no input from Cyclops, he was just the guy things were done to, but he wasn’t thinking straight enough to know what was required and Logan was, and it wasn’t like they had the luxury of time here. He needed to sluice him out and check for damage, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do when the kid was such a wary ball of shit-scared and traumatized.

He said, “I need you to get onto your hands and knees.” 

He heard the boy’s breath sobbing in his throat as he obeyed -- only obeying, Logan was sure, because he was frightened of men like Logan right now and the depraved depths of harm they could do him. When Logan’s fingers went to his ass, the boy shuddered with revulsion. Logan grimaced. He didn’t even want to think about how much the kid’s poor stretched little hole must be aching right now. It was still wide open where Sabretooth’s cock had forced it to take its outsized girth and he could see how sore it was in there. And that open asshole -- forced open, not coaxed or enticed -- also felt like an open invitation. Toad had been right about that -- no way would that hairy animal have been able to lay off the kid the next day and Logan really thought Cyclops was ready to kill himself right now to evade another rape.

He wanted to tell him that life wasn’t really this way; it wasn’t really filled with evil fuckers like the guy who’d raped him just for being pretty, like Cyke had done it on purpose just to make him horny. There was decency and there was kindness, except Logan couldn’t think of much of that right now; wasn’t sure he even believed in that version of the world himself, but he wanted to and -- most importantly -- he really fuckin’ wanted this poor kid to believe in it again.

He could feel how he was eroding his spirit just by doing this -- keeping him in the bath tub, where he didn’t want to be, then the tube up his ass, the warm soapy water pumped in as gently as Logan could do it, but still, to Cyclops, just another humiliation on top of all the others. There was a lot of Sabretooth in there and it came out smelling raw, male, and definitely acidic. It was a relief when the water ran clear. Logan carefully palpitated the kid’s stomach -- that hurt him, Toad had been right about the bruising -- but it was empty, and when he listened the bowel sounds were healthy. 

He had to use his soaped fingers to check out the rest, holding Cyclops still and promising him it was almost over now while the shaking went into overdrive, but they needed to know what they were dealing with. He found he was matching his tone to the one Toad had used when the boy was being raped and quickly found a different cadence, a low growl that wasn’t soothing or threatening, but was just him laying it on the line, that this needed to be done, and the less tense Cyclops could make himself, the less it would hurt. It was still him having to push a part of himself into that boy’s abused ass and it still made him hate himself and the boy cringe, but now he knew the worst, and it was better than he had dared hope for. He owed that bastard Toad a drink. Logan slipped his fingers out and washed off his own touch with plenty of soap and water.

He said, “I know it probably feels like that animal ripped you to pieces, but you’re just really fuckin’ sore. You just need to rest and stay on fluids for a few days, that’s all. Let’s get you dried off and warmed up and give you some painkillers.”

No response. Cyclops just kept his head bowed, not making eye contact, numb with trauma like an animal dying by the side of the road. 

Logan said, “Kid -- put your arm around my neck and I’ll lift you out of here. Let’s get you dried off and into some clothes. Just…trust me. I’m not what you think I am.”

The kid’s head was still down, defeated. “What do I think you are, Logan?”

“Another animal.”

That shocked him enough that the kid finally raised his head. He smelt wary, spooked. “I don’t…I didn’t…. Are you…?”

“Sabretooth is a lot of things, kid, and ‘piece of evil raping shit’ is just one of them, but he’s also pretty unique.”

The kid said dully, “Something’s either unique or it isn’t, it can’t take a qualifier.”

Logan knew that if he asked him what the square root of a number was he’d be able to supply that too; his mind was desperate for some mundanity to grapple with; anything to avoid dealing with the recent past. “Put your arm around my neck and let me get you of this water before it goes cold.”

“I don’t want you to touch me any more.” It was such a shamed whisper.

“I know. Kid, I really do know.” Logan pressed his forehead to his and stroked his thumb along his cheekbone. “But I’m all you’ve got out here. You need me. You’re not going to be able to do this alone because you’re all…fucked up inside right now. You shouldn’t be walking. You need to be warm and still and you need to sleep. So, let me help you.”

That got him a wary head turn, what was possibly a glance in his direction from behind the visor. Logan mentally counted to ten.

Logan said, “Arm around my neck. Now. Do it.” When the kid didn’t argue, just obeyed, like obedience was the only option left to him, Logan flinched inwardly. He’d been hoping for trust, but he wasn’t anything like there yet. He thought this might just be defeat. He lifted him out of the bathtub, wet and slippery and warm to the touch, and sat him -- carefully -- on the old steamer trunk in the corner, wrapped in towels. He said, “Dry your hair,” like Cyclops was six, and put a smaller towel in his hand which the guy looked at like he’d never seen one before in his life. Logan realized he was going to need all the patience he’d ever possessed and then some to get through the next few days. “Cyke -- dry your hair.”

As Logan ran the shower spray over the bath to clean it out, washing away the last stinking remnants of Sabretooth’s angry come, Cyclops mechanically rubbed his hair with a towel because that was the last order he’d been given and the person he was now did what he was told.

 

When he’d finished washing out the bath and Cyclops had made ineffectual rubbing motions at his wet hair that had turned it from dripping to damp, Logan blotted his hair more firmly then, before the kid had time to flinch from being touched by a man, picked him up and carried him along the corridor towards the bedroom. He figured the best thing the kid could do was switch off. If there was a way to get some hot cocoa and painkillers down him, Logan was going with that option, that and a good night’s sleep, so his body had some chance to recover from the vicious trauma it had been through.

He laid him on the bed and then fetched blankets and wrapped him in those, then realized that it was an icebox in here. The kid’s teeth were already chattering and the pipes were making clanking reluctant sounds, the heat clearly lost behind some air bubble with no intention of making it this far.

“You can’t stay in here, it’s too cold. I’m gonna put you on the couch. Arm around my neck again. Trust me.”

The kid did it but not trustingly, everything taut and resistant to the idea of being near to another man’s sweaty flesh. Logan didn’t blame him. He didn’t blame him at all. He carried him in his swaddling of damp towels and cold blankets along the dingy hall to the room where the wood burner was swallowing pine and belching out heat. At least here the damp had some competition. 

The couch creaked a protest as Logan’s knee pressed down on it, but he set Cyclops down carefully, shoved some pillows under his head and stroked those trailing bangs out of his face again. “I’m gonna get you some Tylenol and then I want you to try and sleep off that headache, okay, kid?”

“Please call me ‘Scott’,” Cyclops breathed, and there was a scared ache in his voice, like he was afraid he might not be ‘Scott’ any more and that was why no one was calling him it. 

Red Eyes. Leader Boy. X-Boy. Scott. He had a name. Logan remembered now, of course that was his name. Scott Summers. He should have remembered it before. He understood, too, why the guy needed to hear someone say his name right now. He crouched down by his pallid face, the kid’s teeth still chattering, still shaking with shock and looking nothing at all like the crisply controlled guy from the mansion, just like some poor beaten up street kid who’d had a trick go horribly wrong. 

Logan said, “Scott, you’re gonna get through this but you have to let me help you.”

The boy’s voice was faint and resigned: “Logan, you didn’t even like me enough to remember my name before I fell apart in front of you.”

“You didn’t ‘fall apart’. You’re in shock. It’s medical. It’s not a sign of weakness. It’s what the human body does when it gets asked to take too damned much. Just wait here -- I’ll be right back.”

As he mixed powdered milk and then heated it on the stove, spooning in heaped spoonfuls of cocoa powder and extra sugar to help with the shock, he was grateful that the boy wore a visor, that he wasn’t having to look into his eyes right now and see the dazed horror in them at what had been done to him as it ran through his head in a continuous loop. As the cocoa was heating, he found the bottle of Tylenol he’d stolen from the ambulance and counted out two, then shoved the bottle back in his pocket where Cyclops couldn’t down its entire contents without getting past him. In a few days, the boy would realize the world hadn’t ended, that there was still light and good in the reality that had also let this happen to him. Tonight, still reverberating from the shock of Sabretooth’s assault, Logan didn’t trust or even expect him to be that rational.

He brought him in the pills and the big mug of sweet, hot chocolate and put the handle carefully into his trembling fingers. He put his palm with the two tablets in it to the boy’s mouth and said, “Just swallow the pills down then drink all of this. You need something to stop it hurting so much and you need fluids, Scott.”

There was resistance right up until Logan said his name and then his scent changed imperceptibly. Logan guessed those old superstitions about names having power weren’t so far off the mark because he had practically felt that link forged. Cyclops swallowed the pills and drank the cocoa, and whether it was the sugar or the painkillers or just the scent of chocolate being something familiar as he sipped it, the shaking finally stopped. Logan took the empty mug from him, shoved an extra pillow under his slightly damp head and covered him with a couple more blankets as he gave him a gentle push to lie flat. The boy subsided under his hand like something that had been punctured, obedient the way a puppet was when you pulled its strings, but he turned his eye-visored face up to Logan in a way that was questioning, not challenging, like he wanted to hand over the reins to this guy and just give up for a while.

“It’s fine, kid,” Logan said. “All the doors are locked and I’ll keep watch. No one bad is coming for us. Now just switch your brain off and go to sleep.”

He didn’t know if it was the gruffness of the words or the gentle stroking of his hair that accompanied them, but in five minutes, Cyclops was asleep and Logan could finally sit down carefully in a badly-sprung armchair and take a deep, shuddering breath.

He barely knew these people and suddenly he was responsible for one of them after the guy had been put through what had to be the worst experience of his life. Scott on the couch, there, was alone in a white wintry blizzard with a guy who scared him, and probably anyone with a prick would scare him right now, but he also had a point -- Logan wasn’t as far away from Sabretooth as he would have liked. Logan wasn’t a friend, he was barely an ally, and suddenly Scott was supposed to trust him to keep him safe? All he knew about Logan was that the guy had threatened him for no reason and hit on his girlfriend. No wonder the poor kid was wary.

Logan looked across at him, trying to see the guy from the mansion, trying to see the ‘Scott’ this kid needed to get back to being, but he couldn’t. That boy had been all about self-control and this one was…broken. Someone else could have guided him back, reminded him of who he’d been before, but that was the trouble, here, Logan didn’t know who he’d been before. It was ironic that Toad would have had a better shot of putting the kid back together. He, at least, had known the guy’s name.

He felt kinda sick. He’d had to hold it together in the ambulance, not give anything away so he could take the first chance that came up to get them both out of there, but it had been a tough thing to watch and he was still getting flashes. The worst part was that they weren’t just triggering his disgust, they were triggering his possessive alpha male parts as well. Sabretooth had scent marked Cyclops as his and Logan wanted to scent mark him as a hundred percent owned by Wolverine. The difference between them was that he wasn’t a complete bastard, but the fact that he could understand Sabretooth, that a part of him, even if it was a part he was suppressing, felt the same way, that was something he would really liked to have drowned in beer.

While Cyclops was asleep, Logan decided to prowl around their snow-surrounded domain and see what resources they had, and then, if it was possible, he wanted to fix the damned plumbing.

The kid woke up feverish and hurting -- no big surprise. Logan had found big cans of peaches in the pantry, bags of sugar, and boxes of salt, so he had the rehydration stuff mixed up pretty fast -- fruit juice, sugar, and salt with some hot water to make it more palatable -- most things tasted better warm. Logan helped him sit up -- Cyclops flinching from his touch but not fighting him -- and held the mug to his mouth. “Just sip it. I’m not gonna make you eat solids. Let’s just keep you hydrated and your salt level up. It’s not gonna matter if you lose a few pounds.”

Cyclops sipped the liquid, grimaced, but did as he was told. Logan only had to say, “All of it…” once. 

The ass bruises were already coming out in spectacular colors, so were the finger-shaped bruises on the poor kid’s narrow hips. His body was beautiful, that was the sad thing. It was lean and strong and slender and smooth and Logan would have wanted it on any other day but this, and now it was probably never gonna get appreciated by anyone, because Cyclops was never gonna want to get naked again.

Cyclops said, “I can’t do this…”

And Logan knew what he meant -- being in this head-space, being this guy for days and days to come before he clawed his way back to any kind of normality. He said, “Look, Scott, this is a time-out. This isn’t your life. Your life isn’t this. This is just what happens here -- and when you go home you’ll be you again.”

The kid shook his head wretchedly. “I can’t ever be me again. Scott Summers fights bad guys. He goes on missions. He loves Jean Grey. He doesn’t get…fucked by Sabretooth. I’m not him any more.”

“Yeah, you are.”

The headshake wasn’t stubborn, it was just defeated. “No, I’m not. I don’t know who I am. I just know I’m not him.”

 

They were trapped in their own personal Twilight Zone. Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, Logan drained the heating system, fixed the bubbles, and got it working properly, carved up a lot of wood for the insatiable stove and got sick of eating the peaches he had to keep opening to use the fruit juice for Scott. He mixed things up with some disgusting canned stew where he ate the unidentifiable lumps and spooned the warm gravy down Scott’s throat -- he was thinking of him as Scott now. He was getting fond of Scott, who was a poor, damaged kid who had stopped smelling wary. The last few times, Scott had even looked relieved when Logan walked into the room. Admittedly that was just because he needed help to get to the bathroom to piss out all that rehydration stuff Logan kept making him drink and moving unaided still really hurt, but Logan would take it over wary. 

The snow kept falling and another day went past, very slowly, wound about with white flakes.

Logan found a big tub of some kind of ointment. It smelled safe. He tried it on Scott’s cut wrists first, where the cuffs had bitten in, and it soothed and eased, so he smeared creamy-cool dollops of the stuff all over his fingers and slipped them gently up into Scott’s sore ass. Scott let him. Scott had let everything go. Logan was the one in charge and Scott did what Logan said. As relationships went, it wasn’t the healthiest, but it was certainly convenient. 

The snow kept falling.

Logan spoon-fed Scott thin soup and helped him drink salted fruit juice, and helped him piss and kept him clean and slid his ointment-slicked fingers up into his ass three times a day. Scott said the ointment helped; it made it hurt less, so Logan kept doing it even though it made his amoral cock twitch, but he could see shoals ahead. The boy was beautiful and he did as he was told. He guessed the last time guys had got that combo regularly it would have been in Ancient Greece, some sweet-faced apprentice giving the scar-bodied warrior the ‘my hero’ eyes. 

The snow kept falling.

Scott went from wary to tentatively trusting to completely dependent. Logan didn’t notice the last transition like a man missing his step on the stairs.

He was outside, spitting snow out of his mouth, as he sliced more wood for the burner when he heard Scott calling him, panic-stricken. He dropped everything and ran, hurling himself into the kitchen and onto the living room, where the kid he had left sleeping peacefully was wide-awake and stinking of fear.

“Scott, what is it…?” Logan was looking around for Sabretooth, scenting the air for predators.

Scott said, “I woke up and you weren’t here.”

Logan crouched down next to him. “What?”

“I hate it when you’re not here. I think you’re never coming back. It happens all the time in the night. I panicked. I’m sorry.”

The living room was still the warmest and Scott was still on a liquid diet and still healing, he needed the heat. Logan slept in the bedroom, the pipes still clanking and groaning but now reluctantly permitting the hot water to pass. Scott was looking up at him and although the visor hid his eyes, his face looked woebegone and pretty and terribly young. Logan gave into the impulse to just pull him into his arms and hold him. It felt much too good, that little sigh of relief Scott gave against his neck, Logan’s arms around his back, Scott’s fingers tentatively clutching at Logan’s borrowed coat. 

Logan closed his eyes and breathed him in. 

Scott said, tentatively, “Can I stay with you -- at night?”

Logan swallowed hard. “That ain’t a very good idea.”

“I trust you.”

“What if I don’t trust myself?”

“I don’t like it when you’re not here.”

Scott burrowed in against him, breathing him in. Logan knew this had to be some kind of post-traumatic thing, transference, whatever, but somehow the kid had become All About Logan. Everything else was potentially cruel and destructive; the only safe thing was Logan. It was nuts. It was their little snowbound world.

“Scott, you’re just really…confused right now. You’re not yourself.”

“Can’t I just be this me here and it not count after…?”

Logan found he was stroking Scott’s back, he was nuzzling into Scott’s hair, he was breathing in his fruit juice-and-soap-and-ointment scent. He had never felt so necessary to another human being in his life. It was intoxicating. It felt…right. He said, “Why not?”

There were a hundred reasons why not and Logan knew at least some of them, but it felt so good to say it. Scott smelled of relief and gratitude. He burrowed into Logan and breathed him in, still a little shy, but the panic gone. Logan had just a memory flash of that composed young man in red sunglasses holding out a hand for Logan to shake, and then a wince-making flash of Scott trying to choke down his moans of pain as Sabretooth pounded him that made his arms tighten instinctively around the Scott he was holding. Whoever this poor broken boy was who panicked when Logan was out of his sight and crept into the comfort of his arms as if he was coming home, that guy almost certainly wasn’t ‘Scott’, but he was the only Scott Logan had been given any chance to know. The untouchable calm one and the traumatized crying one were both barely-glimpsed strangers. This boy he knew. This boy was safe because of him. This boy was damaged and beautiful and needed Logan like no one else had ever done. It felt so good to be needed. 

So much of his life was lost. He didn’t know his name or his age or if he had family. He could have a son older than this boy. He could have a daughter with her mother’s eyes and he wouldn’t know her if he saw her on the street. He had been fifteen years alone. Even when he was with someone, it always felt as if tragedy was just waiting to trip him. This relationship was a snow-blurred lie borne of trauma and it was the only thing in his life right now that he trusted to have any reality at all.

Logan said, “I don’t want to…take advantage of you not being yourself. I just want to be the guy who keeps you safe.”

Scott said, “I want you to be the guy who doesn’t leave me.”

“Scott, I’m not going to leave you.”

“Sometimes you go out for no reason.”

Logan gritted his teeth. “It’s not for no reason.”

“It isn’t to smoke. You don’t have any cigars with you. And it isn’t really to chop wood because I looked at the log-pile through the window and we have enough for months.”

“We’re not going to be here for months, Scott. It’ll just be a few more days and then Xavier should pick up where we are.”

Scott shook his head. “He’s not in my head. He hasn’t been in my head since I woke up in the ambulance. He isn’t looking for us.”

Logan felt a twinge of concern. “What about Jean?”

“I switched off the connection between us. I always do when Toad does…that. It’s embarrassing.” Scott was starting to smell panicked again. “What if Storm was hurt when I blew the roof off the station? What if she’s still unconscious?”

“Why would she be?”

Scott pointed to the window. “Because of all the snow.”

Logan thought hard. “You said there was another guy who’s usually around…?”

“Hank.”

“He’s the scientist guy, right? Okay then, maybe something’s happened to the Professor and that’s why he’s not able to look for us, and maybe Storm’s a little out of things, but that still leaves Jean and that Hank guy. That means two smart people who love you and who aren’t going to stop looking --”

“Logan, why do you really keep going outside?”

“Kid, you ask a lot of dumb questions. I’m an adult male with a healthy libido and you’re naked and beautiful -- why do you think I have to keep going outside?”

Scott’s mouth formed an ‘o’ of surprise. There was the spiking fear scent Logan had expected and then…it faded. He inched closer to Logan, even though he was already nestling in his arms. “Do you want to do what he did…?”

“God! Scott! I’d kill anyone who hurt you like that -- myself included.”

“I’ll do whatever you want as long as you don’t leave me. I can do other things if you show me how. I could learn…”

Logan took him by the shoulders and held him up, gazing into that eye-concealing visor. “I’m not going to leave you. You don’t have to please me…like that to keep my here.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” the boy babbled at him. “I think you’re beautiful, too. Please, Logan. I could learn.” 

“Just…get well, okay?” Logan gave him another hug so it felt less like a rejection, head reeling at the realization that he had Scott Summers offering to learn how to give head just to keep him happy. It made his mouth feel ashy and salt-stripped. The guy in the mansion would never have made that offer. This kid was so trauma damaged it made Logan want to weep and then stab Sabretooth right in the groin. “We can share a bed if you’ll sleep better next to me, but nothing sexual happens between us. Understood?”

The boy nodded. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

Logan winced because nothing about that sentence sounded right on those sculpted lips. He wondered if the kid had been mentally damaged before or had abandonment issues so acute that they had been tripped by this latest trauma. 

“Scott, it’s okay to do what you want.”

“I want to be with you.”

 

The snow kept falling and Scott stopped sleeping on the couch. He curled up in the big, sagging bed with Logan, burrowing into him with little sighs of contentment, his visored head on Logan’s chest while he listened to his heartbeat. Scott was needy with trauma but his body was barely bruised now, honed and toned and miraculously taut, and Logan’s dick was starting to ache like a rotten tooth. 

Every night Scott curled up with him in bed Logan set himself the test of not acting on his needs and every night he passed the test. He shared body heat with Scott and held him through the inevitable nightmares, but he did not so much as kiss him chastely on the lips. It didn’t escape his attention that Scott made no move at all to get Logan to touch him sexually. He might in his damaged way think he had fallen in love with Logan but he didn’t want sex with anyone. Logan wondered if the poor kid would ever want sex with anyone again after what Sabretooth had done to him in the back of that ambulance. Sometimes he imagined how it would be – saw himself licking his thumb and fingers and very gently playing with Scott’s hole. He thought Scott would go rigid and began to shake, but he would open his legs obediently enough. Logan could slip a finger in and it would feel so good -- that clenching tightness around his finger – fingerfucking Scott oh so gently to coax him into loosening up. Yeah, sometimes he thought about it for a little too long and then he had to close his eyes and breathe hard as everything filled up with need. That was when he’d have to go and hide out in the bathroom for a while and jerk off in the shower.

What he was winning, though, by not giving into temptation was something that felt like…self-respect. He hadn’t thought he was so much of a bastard that he would take advantage of a damaged guy who -- going by the nightmares -- had been abused by one sick fuck after another for years even before Sabretooth had shoved his dick in his uptight little ass. He’d really hoped he wasn’t that guy and it had turned out that he wasn’t. He could get it up for the idea of a responsive, aroused Scott, but he could not, would not, did not want to fuck a rape victim who was willing to give him anything he wanted just not to walk out the door. The other thing he was winning was Scott’s trust. Not his need or his desperate affection or his obedience or his submission but his liking and his trust.

A week in the same bed with no bad touches and Logan thought it was time they actually got to know each other. It wasn’t that he was much of a talker himself but he realized he’d let the silence spread out until they were almost drowning in it. This couldn’t be all there was between them -- the knowledge that Scott had been felt up by Toad and then ass-raped by Sabretooth and that Logan had rescued him. Scott had been more than a rape victim once. It felt important that they both remembered that.

So Logan started asking him about mutants in general. Did anyone know why they were different? How many of them were there out there? Had anyone ever tried to make contact with the stray ones before?

It was the right topic. Scott was well informed and happy to share the information he had and Logan learned a lot about mutants in general and the X-Men in particular. Scott talked about Xavier like disciples talked about deities and sons talked about fathers and Logan was amused to discover that he was a little jealous. Somehow he had turned into someone who had got a little too comfortable with Scott being all about him. He made himself ask about Jean, too, and to bear the sigh in Scott’s voice when he said her name. He listened extra carefully when other mutants were discussed, resenting the affection with which Scott said the names of ‘Warren’ and ‘Hank’. Definitely a jealousy problem there. Logan could feel the irritable pangs and mock himself for them simultaneously. Back in the mansion, Scott was going to want to forget that any of this had ever happened to him and he was probably going to resent like hell the guy who had witnessed it. Without Logan around, recovered Scott would be able to tell himself that none of it was real, and just box it up with his other childhood traumas. (The nightmares had taught Logan that there had been a lot of those.)

Another week and he felt able to ask about them. Scott was able to get around by then. He was still a little sore, deep in. The micro-tears had healed and his asshole was primly tight again, like it had never known a tongue, a finger, or a cock anywhere near it, but Sabretooth had bruised him badly at the extremity of each thrust, his weight had been crushing, and fighting and straining against being held down and fucked had caused a lot of muscle damage. So, Scott was still limping and he tired easily but he was starting to look normal and some of the guy he really was was starting to show through. Just glimmers but every glimmer so welcome it was all that Logan could do to play it cool and pretend like he’d hadn’t noticed the old Cyke showing through, like veins under healing skin. Enough glimmers after a few more days that Logan felt he was probably able to deal with a few awkward questions without curling up in the corner in a fetal position and starting to shake.

And he was glad he’d asked because when Scott told him about the orphanage -- about how it had seemed to him at the time when it was the only normal he knew and what they’d found out later -- Logan was fucking fascinated. He was angry and he was appalled and he wanted to punch a lot of people but, yeah, he was also fascinated, because it was like someone had built a giant train set just to make Scott ride on it and then write down how he coped with the steam chuffing and the long dark tunnels and the scream of the whistle sounding. And that was tickling something in his own head, something dark and cruel that made him suspect that Logan was also no stranger to being the centerpiece in someone else’s fucked up experiment.

“I don’t believe in soulmates,” he said gruffly.

Scott, he knew, was thinking about Jean because he looked a little wistful then, like he wanted to believe soulmates could be true.

“But I do believe in there being more than just…random patterns in the cosmos. I think there might be a point to things. And I think you and me -- well, maybe we were meant to be in the same place at the same time. And maybe what makes us too damaged from the harm other people did to us just for the fun of it is what makes us better suited to be friends.”

He stumbled over that last word, because he didn’t really do ‘friends’. He did people he slept with and sometimes fell in love with. He did romance that foundered in tragedy, and violence that foundered in loss and regret and self-loathing. Friends, until now, had been something other people got to have. And although Scott felt like something he had a right to, now, less his by right of conquest than right of rescue, he knew that was an illusion. Scott hadn’t been turned into property just by virtue of being raped. He was still Scott. He’d just forgotten who that was for a while in the overwhelming mind-and-body-tearing trauma of being turned into a victim. It was for Scott to decide what Logan was to him and that process couldn’t begin until Scott remembered who Scott was first.

Scott said softly, “Friends sounds good to me, Logan.” There was a catch in his voice that suggested a lot of past loneliness, maybe almost as much as Logan had known.

“Was any bastard kind to you in that place?” Logan pressed.

“One woman was but that just got her lobotomized.”

“And the other boys…?”

Scott shuddered and said, “I don’t know why I did that. It’s not like I really remember. Everything from that time is so misty and blurred.”

Logan found himself wondered cynically if that was really down to Sinister’s mind manipulation or if Jean or Xavier had done a little tweaking in Scott’s troubled head. Kids could be cruel even when they weren’t being encouraged to be that way. He thought of Scott sharing a room with mean-spirited bullying boys just as balls were beginning to drop and impulses to arise. 

“Were you taller than the others?” he said, hoping it was true.

Scott shook his head. “Not then, no. I didn’t have a growth spurt until Xavier took me in.”

The kid was naturally slender now, Logan feared he must have been a runt of a thing when he was younger; but he would always have been pretty. That was never a good combo in a place without rules. If Jean and Xavier had messed with Scott’s head…well, Logan had a twinge of sympathy for them.

He fell asleep with Scott’s head pillowed on his chest and had a new nightmare, not about metal being forced into his waking, screaming body, but other boys pinning Scott down in his bed in the orphanage. The scene was so detailed and so clear that it felt far too much like the truth. One boy keeping watch for interruptions, one gagging Scott with a roll of bandage stolen from the infirmary, one holding his arms while two others pulled down his pajamas. They dragged him over onto his knees and tied his skinny wrists behind his back with more bandages. One grabbed him by the hair and rubbed Scott’s gagged face across his hardening lap, breathing harshly as it worked, but the other two were the worst. The biggest, the ring leader, spat on Scott’s virgin little hole then worked his finger into it while Scott struggled and couldn’t get free. More spit but their mouths were drying up with anticipation, and it wasn’t enough when the first pushed in, face exultant and shocked behind the acne because he had never felt anything like this before. He was so overwhelmed he came in seconds, incoherent with sensation, a gush of come oozing out as his cock slipped out, but then the next one took his place and although this boy was smaller his cock was bigger and his self-control better. He rocked in and out of Scott’s struggling body, mouth slack, eyes glassy, fingers bruising his skinny hips as he made oophing gasping grunts of shock and excitement at the way his cock was being squeezed just right.

Logan woke up snarling, claws out, murderously growling his rage at those evil little raping bastards who had dared to hurt his Scott.

And Scott was gone -- off the bed in one dive, grabbing a poker from the fireplace on the way and wheeling around with his back pressed to the wall, scared and shaken, but with the metal bar raised. Not just a victim now; remembering how to be someone who fought back.

And they looked at each other. At least Logan figured the shocked, trembling kid was looking at him, and Logan, no less shocked, and with his hackles still up, was gazing right back. He looked at the fight stance, and the death grip on the poker and the kid’s heaving chest and he said, “Good reflexes.”

Scott let out a trembling breath. “Jesus, Logan.”

He sounded almost normal. Logan got another welcome glimmer of the guy who’d thrust out a hand in greeting, crisp and controlled and an annoying boy scout, and he felt like a fucking alchemist who’d turned lead into gold. Cyclops, leader of the X-Men, was definitely still in there. Logan’s emotional triage had kept him alive somewhere under the traumatized surface of that shaking, shivering victim of Sabretooth’s brutal rape. Maybe there were only glimpses right now, but he wasn’t gone for good.

“Had a bad dream,” he offered, wondering if Scott would get back into bed or go and sleep on the couch. Either choice could be meaningful not least because it would be a choice and not just blind obedience to Logan’s will.

“I guessed,” Scott said, and there was a tinge of exasperation in his voice that got Logan’s alpha male hackles up and made him want to throw a fucking party.

“You coming back to bed?” He threw it out like a challenge, man to man, vintage gay chicken ‘let’s see who blinks first’. Something a guy might do with another guy if he saw him as an equal and maybe a rival; not a victim, never that.

He drank in the way Scott’s chin lifted a little, defiant even as he was bracing himself to do it, and Logan kinda loved him for the way he walked back to the bed like hairy guys with impulse control issues and big cocks didn’t scare him.

“Sure. Why not?” Scott said, climbing under the covers like his heart wasn’t beating like a Gene Krupa drum solo. 

They were braced there for a minute, elbows not touching, manly as hell, and then Scott curled up against him carefully, like this was a test he was setting both of them. Logan felt that yielding weight on his chest, riding his lung waves like a willing ship and his fingers just strayed to Scott’s hair and Scott froze and then he pushed back against Logan’s hand and Logan had to close his eyes because he had let himself get way too fond of this damn kid. Scott’s mouth brushed his chest, very light, very tentative, probably scared as hell, but very definitely a kiss with a question behind it.

In a voice thick with pain and regret and something that might have been longing, Logan said, “No.”

Because Scott thought he was letting Logan know he trusted him but what he was really doing was pacifying the alpha beast in the room. He was pretty sure Scott had no idea that was where Scott’s subconscious had got to but Logan was fairly certain that was what was happening here. Scott couldn’t take another raping; all that rigid resistance getting hammered by a relentless pain-spike, the fight beaten out of him by thrust after brutal thrust. No way could he take that again, but he and Logan they had a connection so better willing sex with kissing than any pegs driven hard into unready holes. 

Scott tensed, unsure what to do next, and Logan stroked his hair to let him know he wasn’t angry with him and everything was still okay.

“I’m sorry, Scott. It would make me feel like I was no better than him.”

Scott was relaxing and Logan would have laid money he was trying to tell himself that overwhelming sense of relief was actually disappointment.

“Sorry about the claws and the snarling.”

Scott said, “You’ve had enough of my nightmares to deal with.”

“Yours are quieter.”

“Still. It’s not like you wet the bed.”

Logan tilted up his face just to check. “Was that a joke? You made a joke? Scott Summers, leader of the X-Men made a joke?”

Scott grinned at him shyly and gave him a little shove of protest and it was all Logan could do not to kiss him. This time when Scott rubbed his head against Logan’s chest it wasn’t a pacifying gesture but a fond one, cautiously comfortable, like a trainer who loved the tiger whose cage he’d chosen to sleep in. “You’re kind of an ass sometimes,” he offered, a pretty brave criticism that he threw out there in a voice that barely trembled.

Logan felt his heart get tight and twisted with hope but kept his voice casual as he plucked a cigar from the bedside table. “That’s just nuts. What I am is awesome. Mind if I smoke in bed?”

No way was Boy Scout Summers okay with people smoking in bed. Logan closed his eyes and willed him to be himself; trying to stay relaxed when he was almost praying. When Scott, after a terrible pause, said, “Yes, I mind” Logan let out a long, trembling breath of sheer relief and planted a brief, heartfelt kiss in his hair.

Emboldened, Scott said, “No cigars in bed. Ever.”

And Logan grumbled and made a big deal out of putting the cigar back on the table, and thought: ‘If he remembers this, as well as the rest, then maybe there’s a chance for us. It isn’t enough that I saved him and it’s sure as hell not enough that I didn’t take advantage of him when he fell apart completely. What he needs to remember is that I wanted him to get back to being the guy he used to be.’

“So, you finished playing with the poker or can we get back to sleep now?”

“You’re the one who woke me up.” Scott’s heart was still beating faster than usual but he was gaining courage. Playing normal like this was helping. Like ropes on an unlit walkway, they were helping him find the way back to where they’d begun this mystery tour into darkness.

Logan said, “Will ya stop yer yapping already?” 

He felt Scott smirk against him, felt his high cheekbone against his chest as he settled back down to sleep; felt the trust flow back again, a tide into a rockpool. 

Logan tried not to hope. Hoping, in his experience, was a damn silly idea that always led to inevitable disappointment. The guy was way more resilient than Logan had expected and -- tentatively and warily -- he was starting to bounce back. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t hate Logan for witnessing him at his worst as soon as he was back in his own environment. Didn’t mean that something couldn’t still turn into a shitstorm of wrong. 

He’d been thinking so much about how fragile and damaged this poor guy was; how dependent he’d gotten on Logan; how vulnerable to Logan’s exploitation if Logan even for a second let his inner darkness get the upper hand. Thinking about all of that so much that he’d not noticed the way Logan had gone from being a sympathetic witness to someone…involved. He’d sworn not to get involved when that runaway girl mutant needed a ride and so much for that resolution. And now here he was uncomfortably close to caring. Not just caring that a good guy who had never deserved to be abused like that recovered and found himself again. Caring that that good guy didn’t hate Logan at the end of this. Caring -- if Logan was honest about it -- way too much about that.

This fragile, fucked-up kid could hurt him without even meaning to. Could hurt him to the core. Logan resented it and felt the pain of it and realized this was probably what he was up against, this exact feeling in the breast of that boy currently drowsing in his chest hair like it was a bed of goddamned thyme kicking in as he stepped back into the mansion and realized Logan was not only a witness of his abuse and someone to whom he now had a binding obligation, but a man who could reject his affections and turn around and walk away. 

Logan breathed: “Shit.” Because he’d been thinking he needed to get the kid to trust Logan not to rape him and it had never been that; they were a million miles past that. It was getting the kid to trust Logan not to break his heart that was the issue here when Logan didn’t know himself what this thing was between them. He only knew that if he lost it -- whatever the fuck it was, this precious, fragile, barely visible thing between them -- he was never gonna be fit for human company again.

~*~*~*~*~


End file.
